The Eagle: A Magazine Support by Members of St. John's College, المجلد 6

الغلاف الأمامي
W. Metcalfe, 1869
 

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مقاطع مشهورة

الصفحة 164 - tis so concluded on. Ham. There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows, — Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd, — They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way, And marshal me to knavery: Let it work; For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar...
الصفحة 139 - But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill...
الصفحة 167 - But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly ! For strong the infection of our mental strife, Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest ; And we should win thee from thy own fair life, Like us distracted, and like us unblest.
الصفحة 89 - ... myself. I am sure if I had seen a ghost, I should have looked in the very same manner, and done just as he did. And then, to be sure, in that scene, as you called it, between him and his mother, where you told me he acted so fine, why, Lord help me, any man, that is any good man, that had such a mother, would have done exactly the same.
الصفحة 174 - With other ministrations thou, O nature, Healest thy wandering and distempered child : Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets ; Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters ; Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing 272 A SHIPWRECK. Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, His angry spirit healed and harmonized By the benignant touch of love and beauty.
الصفحة 244 - Far, far from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills ; and there The sunshine in the happy glens is fair, And by the sea, and in the brakes. The grass is cool, the sea-side air Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers More virginal and sweet than ours.
الصفحة 163 - Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge To prick and sting her.
الصفحة 284 - The world which was ere I was born, The world which lasts when I am dead ; Which never was the friend of one, Nor promised love it could not give, But lit for all its generous sun, And lived itself, and made us live.
الصفحة 288 - Echo the blame of her foes. We, too, sigh that she flags ; We, too, say that she now — Scarce comprehending the voice Of her greatest, golden-mouth'd sons Of a former age any more — Stupidly travels her round Of mechanic business, and lets Slow die out of her life Glory, and genius, and joy.
الصفحة 195 - Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.

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